Ken Crossdresses and Davis Is Like Ohhhyeaaaah
by Homohyeah
Summary: Read while touching yourself.


Davis buried his hands in the piles of chotchkes, little trinkets accrued from date to date since the inauguration of their romance. Little plastic flowers ripped off of displays and shoved into pockets, napkins with saccharine doodles, candy wrappers and ticket stubs and receipts.

"This is a little creepy." He remarked distantly, his eyes scanning over notes he didn't remember writing, rocks from who knows where, and dead leaves that had crumbled into confetti that soiled every item in the drawer with the smell of autumn.

Ken sat on his bed, lost as for what to do while his boyfriend searched his room for his lost keychain. Upon processing the most recent mutterings from the opposite side of the room, he buried his face in his knees, pulling himself more tightly into a ball. Davis, seeming to sense the sudden density five feet behind him, turned incredulously, and demanded in a tone he didn't intend, "What?"

"Noffin'." His lips pressing against his sweatpants disabled his pronunciation, an uncharacteristic lack of formality that signaled distress. Davis, who generally could not make head or tails of dishonest pouting such as this, had spent enough time defusing the emotional minefield that was a conversation with his effeminate boyfriend to figure the exact catalyst of this moodiness. He crawled across the floor and pulled himself up onto the bed beside him, pulling him into an unreciprocated hug.

"I creepy like you too, ya whinybutt." With his recently developed sixth sense, he felt something loosen in Ken's chest, though he remained in his stoic, impregnable fetal position. The next, and most critical step, to unclogging his drain came next. Davis began rapidly smooching his cheeks and neck, not in a romantic manner, but in the kind that insists upon the receiver to giggle and push the kisser away just hard enough that they always return. Once the two fell into a kissing, tussling tangle, the comment had been rectified, and Davis extracted himself to return to the search for his lost keychain.

Ken sat back up and stared with freshly awoken eyes at his spasmodic beau bopping to and fro about his room. Now irritated that he wasn't receiving the lion's share of his attention, and not just bored to tears, he found a reason to speak up. "What's the big deal about losing a keychain? They drop off my bag all the time. You've got to expect anything you put on your bag will only have a few months' life span."

"It was _limited edition_, Ken." Davis offered, as if it were the only explanation necessary.

"If it was that rare, you should've just kept it in your room." Ken lay back on his bed, staring at the webs of dust stretching across the corners of his ceiling.

"Then I can't show it off…there's no point to limited edition stuff if you can't flaunt it in front of people who missed the opportunity, dummy." He duck-walked over to the closet, which was slightly ajar, and pulled it the rest of the way open to search through the hamper, boxes of winter clothes packed away for the summer, and ever more small containers of little trophies from each successful date.

"Hey Ken? Are you keeping all of this shit so like…if we break up, you can Miss Haversham our relationship?"

"…I am absolutely stunned that you even made that allusion, hon. What was the question?"

"Are you like, making up a shrine to…I dunno. Nevermind. Forget I said anything." In the four years since the two had met, Davis had developed some semblance of tact—however, he still maintained the habit of speaking before he thought through the repercussions.

"No, I know what you mean…I don't know." While Ken lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling and attempting to articulate himself without sounding like a stalker, Davis pulled a pair of white lacy panties out of a box and held them up at eye-level. "I guess…it is kind of difficult to just enjoy being together and not worry about…you know…going off to college and maybe not…staying together." Davis was busy tugging the top to a girl's middle school sailor uniform out of the box from which the panties came. Ken took his silence for an invitation to speak further on his emotions. "My more romantic side is telling me that, urr…it's hard to say it without sounding corny…if we really love each other, we can stay together from any distance for any amount of time, but my romantic side's completely overpowered by my sensible side, which is telling me that very, very few relationships started in middle school last even as long as ours has, let alone for…well…forever. Especially when we have such different aspirations, and what with society making it so difficult for two boys what are you doing." Ken sat up and glared at Davis, who was smiling vaguely at the outfit he had extracted from the box. Pleated blue miniskirt, loose white short-sleeved top with the classic blue sailor collar, all topped off with a large red ribbon that tied over the sternum, thigh-high white socks, and of course, his clean, lacy white panties.

"Hey! St—stop—you can't just—" Ken vaulted upright, stomped the several steps to where his boyfriend sat, and snatched the bulk of the outfit away. He yanked the box out from under its pile of yet more boxes, causing the entire mountain to avalanche, and began jamming the uncovered artifact in artlessly. "That—urrrgh, _Davis_!"

"Wha-at?" Davis crooned cheerfully, unable to keep the grin from his face. "I think it's really cute." He covered his mouth lightly with his fingers while he released a belt of snickers.

"It's _not_ funny! Stop laughing!" Ken finished jamming the outfit into its box and chucked it into the back of the closet, then slamming the door so hard it bounced back before it had time to latch, allowing the boxes to tumbled back out again. Davis, too amused to be kind, tugged the edge of the skirt back out from the box and held it up.

"Oh my God, this is so short. Where'd you even get something like this?"

"_Davis!_" Ken was on the verge of tears; his face flushed an uncomfortable looking violet.

"Ken. Ken. Ken, listen to me." Davis took Ken's chin in one hand, lifting his face so that it was difficult to do anything but stare into one another's eyes. "Ken. You must model this outfit for me."

"Go home, asshole." Ken grunted. A tear spilled over the edge of his bottom eyelid. His cheeks flushed, his eyes shining, wet with tears, Davis stared breathlessly at his boyfriend's pretty face. As he did every now and again, he wondered how on Earth he managed to bag this one for his very own. His very own. The words hit him in the lower stomach, and he shoved his open mouth up against Ken's. Ken resisted, until Davis caught his wrists in both hands, pulling him back and further into him. The weird dominance Davis displayed only when his temperature rose had always dragged Ken down with him. Though they'd never gotten completely undressed before the other, they had mastered first base together. Ken spread his knees and let Davis lean into the space, pressing their chests together.

When Davis pulled back and repeated, "You must model this for me," Ken's answer changed to a stupid, "Okay."

Ken pulled the box from its haphazard location amongst the pile of its brethren in the closet, setting it open on the floor. He pulled his shirt up, revealing his starved, pale little lack of a tummy, his chest segmented by rows of visible ribs, his subtle nipples pale pink against the milky hue of his chest. Davis watched in rapt attention as he shimmied out of his sweatpants, leaving him in his strangely infantile briefs. Davis became furiously excited each time he saw the white cloth clinging to that insignificant butt—his dorky underwear perfectly suited his socially inept character.

The top went on over his head, falling to just barely cover his crotch, like an ill-fitting micro dress. He extended an open hand to his boyfriend seated beneath him, and although he first misrepresented the gesture as an affectionate one, raising his empty hand to squeeze his long fingers tightly, he then remembered that the opposite hand held the skirt. Ken smiled as he handed it over. It had elastic in the waist rather than a zipper, so he was easily able to step into it and wiggled it up over his narrow hips. The skirt showed for only a few centimeters under the loose white top. Davis nearly stood up to explore the outer dimensions of Ken's body in a new light, but then recalled that the outfit was not complete. Kens hands went under his skirt, to his hips, where he began to jerk down the elastic of his briefs, the tight material sticking to his skin. The front of his skirt bunched in front of his crotch like a loincloth, just barely keeping Davis from jumping his bones like a starved animal. The underwear hit the floor, and Ken stepped out of them, the reality of the situation seeming to hit him at that moment. He blushed dark red, his eyes closed, his breath heavy. Once he regained the necessary oxygen supply to his brain required to maintain his balance, he picked up the froofy panties.

"Urrr…I tried these on once before…when…when I got it…" He looked at the crumpled cloth in his hand. "The lace kind of itches and scrapes your legs…should I just wear my regular-?" Davis grabbed the warm underwear from the floor and threw it across the room, keeping his glare focused bitterly on Ken's face. "Okay, that answers that."

He stepped into the leg holes, pulling them up carefully so as to not lift his skirt more than necessary. Once they disappeared under his skirt, he smoothed down its surface, careful to obscure any intimate details. The only item left was the socks. He sat on the floor to pull each one up as high as possible, where they managed to squeeze the smallest amount of fat in his thighs, indenting the skin. Now properly girled up, he stood, did a quick spin, bit his lip, and looked expectantly at Davis.

"Is it weird?" He finally asked, nauseated by the long stretch of silence. "It's weird, right? This is the kind of thing where only one person can enjoy it at a time, I bet. It's weird. I'll—I'll take it off. We don't—" Davis' hand shot forward, grabbing a handful of skirt, panties, and kenboner. Ken yelped, his first instinct being to shove him away, where his hand hovered in space. Ken's blue eyes met Davis' brown. Something passed between them in those few seconds, and when Davis stood up and pulled Ken into his arms, Ken snuggled in deeper rather than resisting.

"You are really, really fuckable right now." Davis noted, tactless as ever, charming as ever. Ken turned his face away in shameful pleasure, unable to keep himself from grinning manically. Davis' hands wandered to his butt, pressing the pleats against his skin. "This skirt is so short, Ken…" His fingers slipped over the hem, pressing into the short expanse of flesh between his skirt and his socks. "You shoulda told me that you like this kinda stuff way sooner, this is…awesome."

Ken straddled Davis' thigh while remaining standing, grinding his thinly veiled junk in a desperate way. "Yeah, I should've." He mumbled, savoring the feel of satiny smoothness between his dick and his boyfriend's jeans, the feel of his ass in both of Davis' chubby hands, painfully aroused at having aroused someone else—especially Davis—just by putting on this dumb outfit he'd bought in a terrified whim online. "I love you."

Davis responded by kissing him softly on the mouth. Ken closed his eyes against the yellow afternoon sun streaming in between the blinds, slipping into a cozy rhythm of slow rubbing, his hand gripping Davis' t-shirt in tightly squeezed fists. Davis took a step forward, forcing Ken to lean back in toward the wall. He stepped on the laquered surface of a box top, where his sock slipped, causing him to flop back on his butt, his attempts to balance himself by gripping Davis' shoulders only succeeding in bringing the weight of the stockier boy down with him.

With rugburned elbows, Davis laughed brightly, giddily. He pulled up the edge of Ken's skirt, biting at the upturned side of his lip when he saw the bulge straining against the cloth, the not-quite opaque white fabric showing his erection in a faint pink tint. "Oh, my God." He laughed. He couldn't seem to keep himself from laughing.

"Davis—Davis?" Ken pushed his skirt back down, staring earnestly into his boyfriend's eyes. "We shouldn't go too far."

Davis glared back in response.

"I don't want to rush—"

"We've been dating for two years! I'm sick of kissing. I wanna _fuck_ you." He leaned in and snapped his jaws territorially just in front of Ken's straight nose.

Ken offered him a final, punctuating lick up the side of his neck before sliding out from underneath Davis. "Not now. Soon. But not today."

"I don't understand." Davis sat cross-legged on the floor, already having powered up into full sulk mode.

"Of course you don't. That's why I'm the more mature, responsible one, and you're the cute one." Ken pulled the skirt down, stepped out of it, and folded it neatly before putting it back into the box.

"You're the cute one." Davis grumbled. "I'm the one who can't get laid."

Ken lifted the top off over his head, mussing his hair just slightly. Davis' hand shot to his back pocket, pulling out his phone and switching it to camera mode with desperate urgency. By the time it loaded, Ken was looking back, aware of Davis' attempt. He swore and snapped the phone shut.

"…Okay, one picture." Ken turned fully to him, wearing only the panties and his tight-high white socks. Davis gasped in excitement, picked up his phone, and directed it at the tall, thin figure of his cross-dressing boyfriend. His thumb pressed down on the button, and Ken hooked his thumbs into the hips of his underwear, tugging it down around his thighs.

As soon as the camera made its artificial shutter noise, he pulled his garment back up. Davis' jaw dropped. Ken went about dressing, putting on his loose pajama shirt before taking off his underwear and replacing it with his slightly dirty briefs.

"No way you just did that."

"You deserve some reward for being such a good boyfriend…"

"You're just a tease—ah, I accidentally deleted it! You have to do it again, you have to have to have to!"

"I said one picture, is it my fault you were careless with it?"

"You _haaaaave_ to!"

Later that evening, once Davis had returned home to masturbate until it hurt, Ken picked the white panties back out of the box, transferring them to the drawer containing all of those candy wrappers and ticket stubs and receipts.


End file.
